Bad Jazz
by WolverGrim
Summary: After a frightening experience with jazz, Vince wants nothing to do with Howard. It doesn’t sit too well with Howard who will stop at nothing to make it up. Eventually Howard/Vince.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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"Vince, come on. Just this once I'm actually asking you for a favour."

"And I can't do it." Vince explained, fixing Howard with a strained smile. "I'm a busy man, Howard. I've got places to go, people to see- you know what I mean."

Howard rubbed his brow, desperate to think of a way to win. "I'll do whatever you want, just name it."

Vince sat at the edge of the shop counter and kicked his legs in a move Howard could only compare to a school girl's playful flirting. No one else could pull it off without raising the wrong sort of questions.

"Howard, look..." Vince said, dragging the Jazz musician's attention back to the heart of their conversation. "I need the night life, I thrive in it ye' know?"

"I'll let you play whatever sort of music you like for a day."

"I don't know," Vince chuckled lightly, "A month maybe, but just a day? Can't be done."

"A week then."

Howard grimaced, knowing full well he would regret ever suggesting such a thing. Vince was a good mate but some times his taste in music left much to be desired.

"Eh..."

"Come on," Howard pleaded. He was seconds away from falling to his knees and begging. "You're my mate - best mate. We're supposed to help each other, yeah?"

Vince sighed dramatically and threw his hands up. "Oh all right, but I expect you to live up to your end of the bargain. My music, remember? Any kind I choose for a whole week."

"Great!" Howard grabbed the trumpet case he'd left behind the counter and bowed graciously. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Right, right." Vince said with a sad shake of his head.

Howard paused at the entrance to the shop and gave his mate one final bit of advice. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Vince rolled his eyes. "If I did that I'd bore myself to death."

Howard considered saying more but stopped himself. If he came off too pushy Vince could resend his decision to mind the store while Howard was away. The safest course of action, he decided, was to leave Vince to his own vices and hurry along to his jazz meet before anything happened.  
"I'll be seeing you then."

Vince gave his retreating form a half hearted wave and watched the door swing shut behind him.

"What a drag." He lamented to the empty shop. "Everyone's out doing someth'n except me. How'd that happen?"

The small bell above the shop's door chimed, drawing his attention to a sketchy pair of characters who entered.

"Hello," Vince greeted them in a bored tone. He was here against his will so he was not going to make the customers think otherwise. "If you want something classy you've definitely come to the wrong place. But if you want piles of dust and spider webs then look no further."

The taller of the two was a gangly fellow with bleached hair and dark beady eyes. Vince didn't like the looks of him. But he did like the woman at his side, she was short and a bit wide, but the fashion she sported was a blinding white light in Vince's mind. If only her companion read the same magazine articles.

"I think we've come to the right place." The man said, directing the statement more to his lady friend than Vince. "Nabootique - home of the strange and out of ordinary."

Vince supposed the man was right though he found the place to be an eyesore on most days. He would be working somewhere else entirely if Naboo wasn't a good friend of Howard's and his.

"What're you two look'n for?" Vince hopped off his perch on the counter but remained with his back to it. No point in vacating if the customers were going to leave again.

"Actually we want everything." The man replied, gazing at Vince with those tiny wet eyes. The woman remained silent beside him but she grinned at his comment and nodded accordingly.

"Everything?" Vince couldn't resist showing some cheek. "Even the bookshelves?"

The white haired man snorted and pointed at an empty burlap sack he had tucked beneath his arm. Somehow Vince had missed that entirely. "I'll take anything shiny that fits in this."

"We do have bags you know." Vince said pointing at the plastic he and Howard recently decorated with the shop's name. He liked how their glittery letters shined beneath the shop's lights.

"Yeah, I noticed that." The man replied. "But I think we'll do it our way."

Without waiting for Vince's response, he tugged a hand gun from the back of his pants and pointed it toward the substitute shop keeper. "This is what some people would call a stick up."

Vince would have retreated a step or two but the counter proved to be an obstacle he hadn't anticipated. Instead he swallowed a lump in his throat and eyed the weapon. "What would you call it?"

"What?" The man's eyes grew smaller yet as he narrowed his gaze.

Vince grimaced and mentally reprimanded himself for ever thinking Howard's eyes were bad. "I mean if 'some people' would call this a stick up, what would you call it?"

"A minor inconvenience. Now do you have a storage room or am I gonna haveta tie you up and gag your pretty little mouth?"

Vince didn't like the idea of bondage. He barely knew the bloke after all. He quickly pointed to the back of the shop.

"Good. Lead the way."

Cursing his bad luck and his friend Howard Moon, Vince was corralled across the shop at gun point and shoved into the back storage. The door slammed behind him, leaving beady eyes and his vixen on one side and Vince and the dark on the other.

Vince suddenly regretted choosing the closet over rope and chair. At least then he would have had company, albeit bad company, but it was something he was willing to overlook. The dark stale air around him was a bit overwhelming, and reminded him why he liked to go out so often.

"Ah come on man, give me a break, will 'ya?"

When no answer followed, Vince pounded the door.

"Let me out, aight? I don't like dark places, they're bad for my complexion!"

The thick oak muffled sounds of glass breaking as the hoodlums went about ransacking the shop.

With a heavy sigh Vince resigned himself to wait for rescue and turned his back to the door. A tower of records loomed over him, stacked against the far wall of the closet. He vaguely recalled seeing Bollo store them there weeks earlier. At the time Vince hadn't thought much of it. But now that he had nothing better to do...

Vince picked the nearest record and flipped it face up. The dark frightening visage of a bearded musician stared up at him with a trombone pressed to his lips. Jazz. He scanned the other records and shuddered as each one revealed itself to be none other than Vince's least favourite genre.

The record tumbled from his fingers and slapped against the floor.

"Oh great." Vince groused, "First I gotta take Howard's place so he can hold hands with his Jazz mates, then I end up in 'ere with my worst nightmare and his wet dream."

It wasn't his imagination; Vince could definitely feel his collar growing tighter. There wasn't enough space between him and the records, no matter how much he pressed against the smooth wooden door.

Desperate he pounded the door again. "Lemme out! I'm being eaten alive in 'ere! I'll give you fashion advice, or a manicure! I don't care just open this door already!"

Silence echoed around him.

With a whimper Vince eased himself down the length of the door until he sat on the cold floor. He kicked the record he'd dropped and watched it skid across the small space. It rebounded off the bottom of a stack and came back with a vengeance.

He squeaked and batted it away once more. This time it stayed where it landed, face up in an act of defiance. He glared at it. "What do you think you're look'n at?"

He felt the weight of a thousand eyes fall on him and he remembered they weren't the only two occupying the space.

"You have a problem to?" He snapped at the back of the closet. "You stay in your corner and I stay in mine, alright?"

The wall of old records loomed over him and he hid behind his crossed arms. "Sorry I didn't mean it! Don't hurt me!"

The room began to close in around him, and not for the first time he regretted letting Howard talk him into such a mess.

"Howard! You and your bloody jazz!" He sobbed into his drawn knees, "I'll come back and haunt you to your grave!"

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To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The way Howard received a lack of greeting upon his return was a dead sign something was terribly amiss. He'd dreaded coming back to the shop and finding Vince somehow caused another mess, but he'd housed a small hope that this time his friend would prove him wrong. Perhaps just this day would be different than all the others - that maybe, Vince would make a few sales, not invite any crack foxes into the shop, or come to blows with any cockney gangs working for the Hitcher.

But Howard Moon should have come to the realisation a long time ago that Vince Noir had a knack for attracting trouble, just as he had the uncanny ability to draw men and women to him with his brilliant looks and keen fashion. This time, as Howard stepped over the shop's threshold, he knew it'd been one of the worst of the scenarios in his mind.

Nabootique resembled the aftermath of a hurricane- everything was either broken, overturned, out of place or simply vanished from the property. Worst yet, Stationary Village was in shambles- split through the center and trampled by feet or some other flat blunt object wielded as a weapon. Howard's short lived joy-filled evening was vacuum sucked into oblivion when he realised he would have to admit to Naboo he'd left Vince alone yet again.

Speaking of which... Howard cast about, expecting his spry friend to be standing amidst the wreckage with a guilty yet completely divine smile in place. But when that image didn't arise, that empty spot in Howard's gut that'd been vacated by joy quickly filled with dread - its nasty cousin.

"Vince? Mate, where are you?"

A soft thump sounded from the back of the shop and he followed it to the closet. A chair was wedged with its back beneath the door knob and legs planted at an angle. "Vince, are you in there?"

"Lemme out!" Came his friend's desperate cry.

Howard wrenched the chair away and pulled the door open. Vince sat on the floor within, fists held ready to knock again. His hair was an utter mess, the clothes he wore were spotted with dust and his eyes red from crying. Beyond him lay a mess of albums that must have been neatly stacked at some point in their life, but now lay scattered and broken at his feet.

"Vince," Howard asked patiently. "What happened in here?"

His friend looked fearfully at the mess then quickly away, shaking his head in shame. "Nothing, I fell is all. They had nothing to do with it."

"Right," Howard said, not really understanding but knowing his friend well enough to know he didn't always make sense. "But what happened to the shop?"

"Oh that." Vince shrugged distractedly. "Beady eyes and his woman friend did that after they locked me in here." He shuddered and scooted further away from the records.

Howard sighed and pulled Vince to his feet. He tried to lighten the heavy mood that Vince was in. "Well, whatever a person can walk away from..."

"Yeah what he can walk away from." Vince said, or to the point- lamented. He didn't sound grateful in the slightest for being rescued from his imprisonment.

Howard couldn't imagine what was going through his friend's mind, but there was no point in laying the blame completely on Howard. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"This has got to be the worst day of my life." Vince said, arms crossed and jaw locked. "And it's entirely your fault."

"My fault?" Howard sputtered. Sure he'd talked Vince into covering both their shifts but he hadn't gone and found a robber too. "Don't you think you're being a little unfair? This is nothing we can't fix..."

"Nothing we can't fix?!" Vince's voice rose an octave. "I'm gonna have nightmares for the rest of my life!"

Howard wanted to argue, to tell Vince he was being ridiculous, when the surprised but not entirely unexpected voice of Naboo reached them.

"What happened to my shop?!"

"Look-" Howard started softly.

"Don't!" Vince pushed past him and stormed into the main room; a perfect image of wronged innocence. Sometimes Howard found himself disgusted by how beautiful his friend was.

Naboo stood just inside the doorway with a shopping bag in one hand and Bollo at his side. When his gaze fell on Vince his demeanor changed entirely. "Are you alright?"

"I was stuck in a cupboard for hours with Howard's jazz!" Vince replied.

The realisation that the broken mess of albums he'd so casually brushed aside was his collection of sixties Jazz was a low blow. Howard's mouth dropped and he glanced back at the gaping closet.

"Bollo, quickly go fetch some tea."

Howard's attention slowly drifted back to the scene. Naboo directed Vince to sit behind the shop counter and left his purchased goods on the floor.

"Are you feeling a bit faint?" The shaman asked.

"A bit, yeah."

"Bollo bring 'im a robe too!" Naboo's familiar came back into the room with a bathrobe and draped it over Vince's shoulders. "Bollo, where's Vince's tea?"

"Warming the water." The gorilla grunted. "Bollo go check now."

Vince took his mobile from his pants and scanned his reflection on its main screen. The sight made his frown deepen.

Howard, who'd stood to one side for a good minute or two- had enough. Despite not wanting to incur Naboo's wrath, he felt the need to be heard above all else. He took several careful steps into the main shop. He felt someone had to defend jazz. "Why didn't you just call one of us up when you were stuck in there?"

Vince didn't look up, rather he was too busy straightening his hair to risk breaking his concentration. Instead he directed an uppity snort in Howard's direction. "I can't believe you're trying to make this my fault. I'm the one who was violated."

"But you had a cell phone with you." Howard felt like he was shouting at a wall, though he had a sinking suspicion he'd make more progress if that were the case.

"It was a very traumatic experience." Vince said, emphasizing each word. "What would you do if you were surrounded by punk and mod?"

Howard fought the urge to roll his eyes. "I think you're being a bit melodramatic..."

"Melodramatic?" Vince's voice raised again and he gestured at his face. "Look at me! I'm pale like death. I've never been more frightened in my life!"

"What, so it's my fault Naboo stored all my Jazz albums in the back?" Howard huffed irritably, fixing both of them with an impatient glare.

"I had Bollo put them out of the way. They were cluttering up my shop."

Bollo rejoined them carrying a silver tray with tea, nodding sullenly. "Bad for business."

Vince accepted one of the cups and sipped it.

No matter how ridiculous the situation sounded, Howard did see the slightest of tremors in his good mate's hand. He felt more than a little guilty at putting someone so delicate in such a bad position.

"Look, Vince..." He took a step forward and stopped when Vince flinched. It stung his pride and did well to hurt his feelings too. "What can I do to make it up to you?"

"I don't want you to make it up!" Vince announced with a sort of finality Howard wasn't used to hearing from him. "I need a break. A nice long break."

"A break from what?" Howard asked, dreading the answer yet needing to know.

His best mate looked squarely at him over the rim of Naboo's tea cup. "A break from you and your jazz."

Howard took a step back as if he'd been struck. "You can't mean that. What about all of our times?"

Vince stood up. "Forget our times, I need some air."

The robe Bollo draped over his shoulders billowed dramatically as he stalked toward the front door.

"Vince, no!" Howard moved to follow but his mate held a hand out to halt him.

"Stay away Howard. Just leave me alone. I'm very delicate right now. I could break any second, I can feel it."

Howard paused, grasping air. He had to think of something- anything to prevent Vince of all people from turning his back on him, but his mind was an empty slate, too shocked by the notion of being alone to think of a way to stop him.

"Vince, wait!" Naboo's voice caught both their attention and for a fleeting moment Howard felt hope. Perhaps Naboo would talk some sense into him.

Howard nodded encouragingly. "Listen to what Naboo says. Has his wisdom ever led you astray?"

Vince turned to their shaman friend, curiosity and maybe even a little hope getting the better of his poor mood.

"You've still got my tea cup." Naboo said, gesturing at the drink in Vince's hand. "I'd like it back, that set cost a fortune."

Howard rubbed a hand over his brow in frustration. "Thank you Naboo, you're a very big help."

"Oh, right." Vince set the cup on a shelf beside the door and gave a weak wave. "I'll see ya around Naboo. Bollo..." His gaze flittered over Howard for a moment, and he frowned. "Be seeing you."

The door swung shut and Howard released a heavy sigh. He had half the mind to go after Vince right then, but pride and a small bit of fear held him back. He was stuck between rightful anger at being blamed for the whole situation and fear he'd only scare his mate further away if he confronted him haphazardly.

A movement at his side caught Howard's attention and he turned to find Bollo offering him a broom.

"Thank you." Howard said in a flat tone.

The ape grunted a reply and shuffled away, leaving Howard to brood over his misfortune and plan a way to win Vince back.


End file.
